


Dozing

by dream56



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types, Scooby Doo Where Are You! (TV 1969)
Genre: M/M, Mostly a quiet meditation, Shaggy might have some self esteem issues, but man does he love Fred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 02:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18956350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream56/pseuds/dream56
Summary: In the back of the Mystery Machine, on the way to their next case, Shaggy muses over his relationship with Fred and the dark eyes that reflect from the rear-view mirror.





	Dozing

The Mystery Machine hummed as it sped along the dark stretch of highway, each bend taking them further into the moonlit countryside. The night glittered with roadside glass. Daphne and Velma drowsed, Velma’s head resting on Daphne’s shoulder, the long ride made longer as the girls lightly snored. Scooby, head on paws, snored even louder. And Shaggy sat, cross-legged, observing Fred.

It was, to Shaggy’s view, the perfect seat. Here, from the back, he had the optimum chance to stare at Fred’s features, the strong set of his jaw sweeping toward his chin, the rougher cut of blond hair coasting up to the crown of perfectly coifed style, the edge of his expression which alternated between puzzlement and enthusiasm. It was the perfect seat to soak in that handsome archetype, his blond Adonis, his.

Much better than the front seat which would have made his gaze too obvious, too self-indulgent, which would have eliminated the rare moments when Fred’s eyes, dark and full of warmth, flicked to the rear-view mirror and met Shaggy’s and held there for as long as the stretch of road ahead of them stayed straight.

They snuck in-betweens, moments overlapping casual practice, where the boys slept together in haunted hotels and malignant mansions, as social custom dictated and as they would much prefer. Fred would hide a smile as the bed-springs sagged, groaning under Shaggy’s arrival, his last meal signaling its presence in his fat-cloaking athlete’s body.

And further in-between the men in masks, the hijinks and high water scenarios, the traps gone wrong and the capers gone right, they nestled tenderness, the fleeting pronouncements, acknowledgements, of their _something_. _Their_ something. It made no difference to the rest of the gang whose focus on their goal of uncovering the next stooge made trust the bow and friendship the stern. When being chased by a yeti the size of the amount of food Shaggy and Scooby together could clock in one hour, each had little on their minds but flight.

Shaggy shifted slightly, unbending one leg, stretching out. Fred’s eyes darted to him and back to the road, a slight snow beginning to fall, a full snow threatening to overtake them before they reached their friend’s family home. A werewolf, she’d told them. It was a werewolf, her great-grandfather, as the legends went. And because they’d had plenty of experience in the area of lycanthropes, fake fur, real teeth, and all, down they decided to drive, to meet their newest mystery.

Did it matter it was likely another man in a mask? No. What excited them, or Fred at least, was the ever-presence of the mysteries themselves, that there was always something new to figure out, always some fresh conjecture to make, clues to hunt, riddles to sort, locales to explore. It meant they had a purpose, an ongoing investigation of the now, something that abstracted them all from the simple events adding up to the future. They glorified the present and thought as far ahead as the next mystery.

It wasn’t fear that set the tone, nor a desire not to acknowledge the quiet intersection of Fred and Shaggy’s feelings. Rather, without the constant focus, or scrutiny, rather, they were allowed to see how things moved, what shape things took, the articles that clothed their expectations. And Fred had no fears.

Shaggy deferred. Shaggy, whose fear was so evident, so telegraphed through every portion of his physique, shivering, clamoring, trembling, made one particular fear silent, invisible. He had dreamed it and let it dissipate. He had heard it in the deepest trenches of his mind and covered it up. What if, one day, Fred spoke, said “Let’s split up,” but it was only the two of them present, only the bond they’d cultivated positioned under the shadow of the blade?

Shaggy unpinned his other leg, stretched out his long body completely, his shoe nudging Scooby’s nose. Scooby smacked at the culprit in his sleep and Shaggy smiled. Fear was the motivator of misery and Shaggy felt sated. He glanced again at Fred, whose eyes were already on him, lifting up into a smile that matched the side of his lips Shaggy could see.

Shaggy was sure what he wanted was more than he knew how to ask for. Had he ever really struggled to possess something? The old money on both sides of his family, spanning both sides of the Civil War, had leaked into his present sense of reality, had unboxed the sky, had carved staircases into mountains. But what had he wanted, had he worried over, that was not at all guaranteed?

Material circumstance is often an indicator of expectation and Shaggy ironically had none. He swam into stress as easily as one might breathe and he set his hand on his stomach, another on his right forearm to warm it up from its exposure to the cool metal of the van. What the compass of his awareness brought him to, what the intuition of his tongue dragged him toward was Fred.

Just Fred.

Maybe it would be this mystery that changed things, that set a new tone, that rearranged the scales. Maybe this wolfman would tell them something new. And maybe Shaggy would take Fred aside and declare in one sweeping elevated gesture the limits of his understanding of their _this_ and then move beyond them, crafting a new boundary, just out of sight above them, hovering in the darkness of the future, filled with further breakable walls, further collapsible vaults.

Shaggy let his eyes rest on Fred’s jaw as Fred swallowed. Fred’s collar was just sideways and they had been driving for some hours already. The snow thickened and the curve of the road increased. Maybe this would be the moment, the mystery, that meant something different. Maybe it would bloom by the end into some sudden recognition which had been there all along. Maybe it would, but Shaggy doubted it.

Shaggy settled in, sure that his abilities, all the total sum of his want and his ways and means, meant they’d have their normal a little longer, at least a little longer, and to prolong it even one mystery more meant what is called sometimes happiness, other times love.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> For MJEsperandieu.


End file.
